


Fire Before Smoke

by Doogly_Writes



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chess, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5784541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doogly_Writes/pseuds/Doogly_Writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus plays chess with an old man</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Before Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Old request from /utg/, forgot to put it on here

“Checkmate.”

The word resounded off of Papyrus as he stared at the board, beaten again. His old opponent smiled and stood up, offering his hand. Papyrus stood up and put his hand in the old man’s, shaking it.

“Good game, Papyrus. One of these days you’ll beat me, you’re definitely getting better.” His smile grew, “Don’t look so blue old chum, we’ll play again tomorrow. These games we’ve played together have been the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Really eases the boredom of growing old,” he chuckled.

Papyrus smiled back, and started to put away his chess set. These were also really fun for him, he never really played Chess before he got a portable set as a gift from Toriel. When he did, he immediately set out to find a friend to play with, and he found Mr. Waterson, an old man whose old partner grew too sick to play, at least that’s what he what he'd heard. They played every day, at 5 o’clock in the afternoon. Papyrus has only taken one game from the old man, but he’s still fierce competition, his puzzle making mind good at strategies, not so much at execution. 

Mr. Waterson helped ease the Pawns into their slots in the carrying case, his hands shaking slightly. Slowly, the two put them all away and both were all packed up.

“GOODNIGHT MR. WATERSON,” said the skeleton, “SAME TIME TOMORROW?”

“Of course, Papyrus,” the old man fastened his coat and put on his hat, “wouldn’t dream of missing it.” The two went their separate   
ways home.

~~~

Tomorrow came, and Papyrus was sitting at the usual bench, the hands on his watch nearing 5 o’clock. He looked around, trying to spot the old man making his way through the park. "This is odd, he's usually here by now," Papyrus thought to himself. The Chess board was neatly set up on the table, the figures all facing forwards, eyeing their doppelgängers. The war had started, but not a single shot has rang out.

Papyrus checked his watch again, 5:05. His worried smile shrunk, looking around again and again, searching for Waterson’s brown hat or his worn brown-leather jacket, or his green scarf. Anything that looked like it could be him. But nobody came.

The skeleton waited until dark, still searching under the light of the park’s path lights. His watch showed 7:13. He let out a sigh and packed his chess set back up, gently placing them all in their spaces, until the last piece was the Black King. Waterson always chose to be on the black side, “White fits you more, Papyrus,” he would joke. The skeleton turned the piece between his fingers, caressing the ebony figure, feeling the smooth and polished wood.

“WHERE COULD HE BE?” he said to himself, “HE SAID THAT HE WOULDN’T DREAM OF MISSING OUR GAME.” He stared at the piece for a little while longer, and then retired it back to it's slot. He buckled the sides of the leather case and went home.

~~~ 

The next day came, and Papyrus sat waiting still, waiting from the original time of five o’clock until seven, hoping that he would show eventually. Though the hope started to drift away with every “tick” of his watch. The board would be set, the pieces all looking forward, but they wouldn’t move from their spots.

Papyrus followed this routine for the next few days, knowing that his partner won’t show up, but he still had a fleeting hope that he might, maybe he would, just maybe.

On the fourth day, at almost five o’clock, a young woman walked up to the table Papyrus was sitting at.

“Hello,” she said, “Are you by chance Papyrus?”

“WHY YES,” said the skeleton, “WHO ARE YOU?”

“Oh, I’m Susan, Susan Waterson.”

“WATERSON? AS IN MR. WATERSON?” the skeleton’s face brightened up.

“I suppose so, I’m guessing you’re talking about my father,” she looked down at the ground, her expression saddening, “he said he used to play chess with a skeleton named Papyrus at the park every day at five. I thought he was just slowly losing his marbles.”

“HE SEEMED TO HAVE THEM ALL WHEN HE CAME TO PLAY WITH ME,” laughed Papyrus, “HE WOULD ALWAYS BEAT ME! WHERE IS HE, BY THE BY? I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM IN QUITE A WHILE.”

Susan let out a little sob, “He-He… passed about two days ago, he had a bad accident and… never really…” she tried her best to not cry, “I never would’ve thought he’d die so soon.” The words too much for her frail heart, the wounds not healed. The tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks, her breathing turning labored. Quiet sobs sounded from her.

Papyrus got up and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her, “NOW, NOW, SUSAN, MR. WATERSON WOULDN’T WANT YOU TO CRY OVER HIM. HE’D WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY!” She looked up at him and rubbed a tear out of her eye.

“You-You’re right,” she sniffled, “I didn’t come here to sob my eyes out, I came to ask you a question.”

The Skeleton looked at her, intrigued, “AND THAT WOULD BE?”

“Would you enjoy a game of chess?”


End file.
